


Ray, Ravenous

by Omorka



Category: Ghostbusters (1984)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Possession, Slash, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-04 16:41:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omorka/pseuds/Omorka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray's injured on a bust, and Peter has to find a way to sate his supernaturally enhanced appetite.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ray, Ravenous

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "insatiable" for Small Fandom Fest Round Five at LJ. Mild spoilers for both movies.

"We're busting a _what_, now?" Winston was unamused. Venkman and Spengler had long since stopped being surprised at whatever the afterworld threw at them, and Stantz knew too much to be caught off guard very often, but Zeddemore's expectations still ran to the prosaic, and the supernatural tended to be anything but.

"It's a statue representing the base nature of human sinfulness," Ray repeated. "Supposedly, a priest bound a minor demon into the statue in 1606, and it was removed to the Vatican for safe keeping, but in 1837, it was stolen from the Church's collection. It turned up in Russia in 1889, and was put on exhibit in St. Petersburg, when several holy men - both Russian Orthodox and Jewish - turned up and insisted that it would bring a disaster. The building it was being shown in collapsed, and the statue was assumed to be destroyed, but there were reports that it was in a private collection somewhere in West Germany in the early '50s. Our client purchased a collection of miscellaneous sculpture two months ago at auction from the estate of Karl Worlitz, an art critic and amateur occultist from Belgium, and had it brought here, and the statue's been causing trouble ever since." Ray grinned from ear to ear. Nothing got him excited like an occult occurrence with a researchable history, preferably a lengthy one.

"Causing trouble, meaning what, exactly?" Venkman wasn't surprised, but neither did he sound enthusiastic about the prospect of chasing a possessed statue around the storage area of a museum. It was hard enough to get people to pay their capture and containment fees as it was, without the potential for massive property damage on top of that.

"Poltergeist activity, mostly. Vases being flung off their pedestals, glass objects exploding, that sort of thing." Ray pulled Ecto-1 into a no-parking zone, and they piled out of the doors. "He mentioned that he keeps finding the statue in a different place each morning, but he hasn't seen it move. When he tried to remove it from the building, it got so heavy they couldn't pick it up with a forklift. He had the art handlers take everything else valuable out of its room yesterday, so we don't have to worry too much about not shooting the rest of the art. And while he'd like the statue in one piece, he understands that that may not be possible. He's prepared to lose it, if it means the rest of the museum's collections are safe again." Ray shrugged into his pack, checked his trap, and touched his ecto-scopes to make sure they were still on his head.

"Good to know. All right, guys, let's try and look professional here." Peter looked at the building; it was small even for a private museum, crammed between an old theater and a set of upscale but plain-looking condos. The owner used it as a display space for his personal art collection, and rented the rest of the space to other collectors; it was almost more a gallery than a museum, except that most of the pieces weren't for sale. It was a squat, cold-looking concrete building with two columns flanking the front door that might have been meant to be abstract dancers, or flames, or possibly birds. Or maybe they were just abstract. Venkman didn't much care for modern art. Spengler seemed to find them fascinating, but then, he was into fungi, too.

The security guard on duty, a jittery young man barely out of his teens with sandy hair and watery eyes, met them just inside the door. "Oh, good, you're here. Mr. Lawrence got caught in traffic on the way back from a late lunch meeting; he told me to let you in. That thing's down this way." With slightly shaky hands, he unlocked a door marked 'Personnel Only, Please' and led them down a well-lit, narrow hallway with a pair of double doors at the end. He talked as he walked, his hands fluttering nervously, like trapped birds. "I don't know if that thing is cursed, or possessed, or what, but this hasn't been a safe working environment since they brought it here. It's _oppressive_, you know?" He gestured at the doors as they arrived. The wire glass windows had been smashed out; the wire grid was still mostly in place, but the glass was in tiny fragments in a broad arc on the floor.

Egon raised his PKE meter, the lights flashing rapidly. "I'm reading a Class Seven vapor, currently quiescent. Only the one. Fairly weak for a Class Seven, bottom of the scale for that classification."

The guard nervously picked his way across the shards and unlocked the door, his hands still shaking. "Thanks a lot, Ghostbusters. I'll, uh, I'll meet you back in the lobby if the boss isn't here yet." He edged back across the glass and scuttled back the way they'd come.

Ray dropped his ecto-scopes into place. Venkman nodded at the rest of his team. "Okay, when we go in there, I want us to stay in formation. Everybody watch everyone's back; we don't wanna get brained by flying objects. Hit it with the throwers on low and try to force it out of the statue; if that doesn't work, we'll up the power. Spengler, what level should we expect the statue to break at?"

"If it's marble, it will shatter on contact with our proton emissions no matter what power level we use. If it's limestone or granite, probably somewhere around half stream." Egon unshipped his thrower, and the others followed.

"Then let's start at about a third and work up from there." Peter adjusted the dial and thumbed the power switch. "Heat em' up!"

"Smokin'!" the others responded, the air vibrating with the deep thrum-and-whine of the proton packs coming online. Venkman kicked the door open, and they charged in.

A few empty crates and cardboard boxes were scattered around, as if someone had been in a hurry and left them behind. In the center of the room sat a lump of dark gray stone, about four feet high. At first, Peter would have denied that it was a statue at all. It just looked like a particularly unpleasant rock. But it was carved, all right - just not into anything that looked like any form he'd ever seen. Parts of faces - an eye here, an ear there, a mouth somewhere else - peppered its surface, and there were shapes that might have been hands somewhere near where its stomach would have been if it had been remotely humanoid.

"That may, in fact, be the ugliest thing I've ever seen, and I've been to hockey games and legislative sessions." Peter was appalled. "I mean, I've heard of something being ugly as homemade sin, but I didn't think they were serious. How much did he pay for that, again?"

"Peter, don't antagonize it," hissed Ray, as a low, popping, groaning noise rang out. The statue rocked slowly on its base, then slowly rose into the air until its base was at about eye level. A faintly-glowing miasma of purple and green formed around it, looking almost like a cluster of ropy tentacles. The Ghostbusters stepped back; Peter shifted his finger to the firing button and waited for it to make a move.

The vaguely anemone-like shape waved one etheric arm; one of the empty crates floated upwards lazily, and then flung itself towards Peter as if it had been shot out of a catapult. He dodged and opened fire on the impromptu projectile; the crate exploded and burst into flame as it crashed past him, lodging several large splinters in his hair and uniform. Spengler fired at the statue, lassoing it in his lone proton stream, but it began pulling away from him, backing erratically towards the other crates. Egon took two steps towards it to avoid being jerked off balance.

"Hit it, guys!" Peter nailed the statue with another stream, and was quickly joined by Winston's. Ray unlatched the trap, ready to throw it.

"It's not letting go. We can't trap it while it's still in the statue, Venkman; we need to up the power." Spengler was still being dragged forwards slightly; he braced his feet and raised his thrower higher.

"Let's boost it, boys." Peter took his thumb off the power switch and dialed the intensity knob up to halfway. The statue began to vibrate as the other two streams also brightened; a shower of sparks fell away from it as it jerked right, left, and backwards, struggling to get away.

There was another popping sound, and the gray stone split abruptly into chunks. The mass of purple and green mist shot upwards, out of the streams entirely, and the remains of the statue dropped to the floor, breaking into several more pieces. Peter followed the spirit with his thrower, but it dodged him nimbly and arced over the four of them.

"The door, block the door!" Ray scrambled towards the entrance they'd come through, shifting the trap to his left hand and grabbing for his thrower.

"Ray, it can go through walls; it doesn't need the door if it's not in the statue." Winston re-aimed and fired, winging the tentacular mist but not managing to capture it again.

Stantz stopped, and started to turn back around. Peter watched the disaster unfold in slow motion; he fired, then pulled his stream to avoid crossing with Spengler's wild shot. The Class Seven evaded to the left, and then _dropped_ like a rock, directly onto Ray, who shrieked and went down in a puddle of slime.

"Ray!" Peter and Egon yelled practically in unison. The ghost squirmed, its tentacles writhing like snakes around its pinned prey. Stantz convulsed under the Class Seven and let out a high-pitched warbling screech, like a bad pair of brakes in the rain. Zeddemore dropped to the floor and fired upwards into the ectoplasmic mass over Ray; the ghost flattened, rotated, and pulled away from the engineer with a wet squelch, elongating as it went. Three tentacles remained wrapped around Stantz, pinning his arms to his sides and clamping his legs together. A fourth coiled down and over him, almost as if it were feeling for something.

"Don't let it pick him up; it'll try to use him as a shield!" Zeddemore fired at the main body of the Class Seven; this time the shot was good, and it writhed in place.

"Go to three-quarters stream; I've got the trap. Don't hit Ray." Egon unlatched his trap and rolled it across the floor. Peter adjusted his neutrona wand and hit the spook with a second containment stream. It rolled and wailed, struggling to get away from them, but it kept a tight hold on Ray, who dangled limply in its ectoplasmic arms.

Egon stood up and signaled to Peter. Venkman shouted "Now!" as Egon hit the trap. The reversed-pyramid of blinding light shot up, Peter and Winston pulled their streams, and the ghost howled and gibbered as it was dragged into the device in a shower of indigo and white sparks. The tendrils wrapped around Ray lengthened, stretched, and finally snapped as the trap hissed shut. Ray's body jerked once and collapsed to the floor.

Peter jogged up to the trap and scooped it up by the handle as it started to smoke. Egon and Winston rushed over to to help Ray to his feet. He looked unconscious, eyes closed, body slack; Egon knelt down and pressed two fingers to his neck. Suddenly Peter was more concerned. "Everything okay over there?"

"He's breathing. He has a pulse, but it's elevated. And he's completely soaked in ectoplasm." Egon withdrew his hand and wiped it on the leg of his uniform.

"Do we need to call an ambulance?" Peter edged around the shattered fragments of the statue.

Ray inhaled abruptly, clenched his hands into fists, and pushed himself into a sitting position. "Uggh. Guys, what happened?" He knuckled the slime out of his eyes and blinked, looking over at Egon and then up at Peter.

His eyes were glowing. Only faintly, but an unnatural glimmer of green shone from under his eyelids.

"Oh, that's bad, isn't it." Winston backed up a step, his hand reflexively returning to his thrower.

Peter scowled and folded his arms across his chest. "Ray, have you gotten yourself possessed again?"

Egon unhooked the PKE meter from his belt again and turned it on. The lights blinked and the wings rose slightly. "Not exactly. I'm not reading a complete spirit. It looks as if the ghost _attempted_ to possess Ray and was interrupted, leaving a fragment of ectoplasmic energy in his body." He frowned at the reading. "It doesn't even have enough PKE valences to register as a full Class One. But it's definitely lodged inside Ray."

"Oh, no. I'm sorry, guys." Ray looked miserable, like a little kid who's been caught making an accidental mess.

"Well, how do we get it out?" Peter set a hand firmly on Ray's shoulder, and offered him his other hand to pull him to his feet. It wasn't easy; Stantz's boots were covered in ectoplasm, and it took three tries for him to get enough traction to stand.

"I don't know." Egon didn't utter that phrase very often, and almost never without clarifying it; Peter scowled. "Let's get him back to the firehouse, and we'll check our references. We can attempt a traditional exorcism, but I suspect it will be ineffective against something that has no consciousness of its own."

"What about the mood slime? That got Vigo out of him the last time." Peter steered Ray towards the door; the others followed.

"We can try it, but our supply is running very low, and this is a different sort of energy. Vigo was a human once; he'd been warped and transformed by his dealings with beings from other planes and by his centuries in the painting, but his was still fundamentally a human spirit. This one was of non-human origin - a demon, in the common terms." Egon glanced back at the PKE meter. "I'm not reading any other traces of the spirit; we appear to have successfully captured the rest of it."

"Well, let's deliver the bill and get Ray home." Venkman leaned in towards Ray's ear. "Ray, you okay? How are you feeling?"

Ray still seemed out of it. He was unsteady on his feet, and had trouble focusing, but he turned in Peter's direction when he spoke. "I'm fine. I'm . . . hungry."

\---

"Okay, I called in a couple of pizzas. Our usual, one extra cheese and pepperoni for us sane people, one green pepper and mushroom for you two freaks." Venkman leaned against one of the metal shelves in the lab as Egon ran a detector array that had probably started life as a cheese grater over Ray. What was it with Egon and making their lab equipment out of kitchen implements? Peter shook his head.

Then he narrowed his eyes. Stantz was _shaking_. "Are you going into shock on us, Ray?"

Ray had only partially recovered. He was reasonably lucid, but his reaction time was slow, and he wasn't initiating conversations, only speaking when spoken to. Worse, his usual manic energy was gone; he seemed subdued, almost. He slowly met Peter's eyes and responded, "No. But I'm _starving_, Peter. I feel like I'm having a low blood sugar attack." Ray wrapped his arms around himself and continued shivering.

"Let me get you some hot coffee with double sugar." Peter ducked back into the kitchen; oh, good, Janine had put another pot on. He made a mental note to give her a cost-of-living raise one of these months. Finding a clean mug took a moment, but someone had run a load of dishes and there were a couple in the top rack of the dishwasher. Ray liked his coffee almost as sweet as Egon did; Peter scooped in a Spenglerian amount of sugar and a spoonful of powdered creamer, and carefully carried the too-full mug back into the lab, handing it to his younger partner just as their secretary arrived.

"I'm signing out for the day, unless you need me to run some errands. Oh, G-d," she gasped, one hand flying to her face. Peter looked back at Ray as he chugged the steaming liquid as if it were a cold beer.

Egon stared at Ray, startled, then glanced back at Janine. "It's not quite like that," he started, then broke off and studied Ray carefully again.

"Not quite like what, exactly?" Winston asked, taking the empty mug from Ray's trembling hands before he could drop it.

"When Vinz was . . . was _wearing_ Louis, he did that with a coffeepot of boiling water. Just like that. He drank it down and didn't even feel it." Janine was starting to shiver, too, now.

"It didn't hurt him. Vinz Clorto's extraplanar energies kept Louis from being damaged by most of the things he was requiring of him." Egon leaned over his colleague. "Ray, you didn't just burn yourself, did you?"

"What? No, Egon, I mean, it was kind of uncomfortable but it didn't hurt. I guess it should have, huh?" Ray seemed dazed; he hadn't reacted to Janine's outburst at all. "Peter, could I have another cup? Or maybe one of Egon's sodas?"

"Drinking that much coffee that quickly's not going to be good for you even if you're not scalding your stomach lining. Let's try that soda idea." Peter ducked into the kitchen again, and came back with most of a two-liter bottle of cola and a glass he hoped was clean. He twisted off the cap and was about to pour a drink when Ray snatched the bottle from his hands - and drained it in about ten seconds.

"Egon, let me off of this thing." Ray pawed at the leads attached to his wrist and temples, knocking the headband away and detaching the wire on the plastic bracelet. He stumbled past Venkman towards the kitchen. Was the light in his eyes brighter? It was hard to tell. Peter shot a glance at Spengler, his mouth a tight line; Egon spread his hands and shrugged. The four of them followed Ray into the other room.

Ray was standing in front of the fridge with the door open, scooping things towards himself and cramming them in his mouth. Eyes wide, they watched him demolish the remains of yesterday's Chinese takeout, a carton of orange juice, two more sodas, several apples, half a casserole Winston's mother had brought by, all the cold cuts in the drawer, and an entire block of cheese. He was pouring the remains of a quart of milk that Peter suspected was past its expiration date down his throat when Egon grabbed the psychologist by the sleeve and pulled him back into the lab.

"Do the words 'this is bad' occur consecutively in that order in what you're about to tell me, Egon?" Peter was a bit shaken. Winston let out a low whistle somewhere behind him.

"Potentially. Obviously, that shouldn't be physically possible." Spengler waved the PKE meter again. "Initially, I was concerned that the ectoplasmic energy core that Ray currently contains was converting the caloric content into psychokinetic energy and regenerating itself, but it does not appear to be gaining energy."

Peter sighed. "That's the good news, right?"

"Correct. On the other hand, the ectoplasmic core _is_ draining energy from Ray's life processes. If it _does_ strengthen, that could become life-threatening. And I don't believe Ray is deriving any nourishment from what he's eating. I suspect the core _is_ absorbing it, even though it cannot actually use the mass or its energy content to strengthen itself." Egon's dark eyes were concerned.

"So while it's in him, he can't really eat no matter how much he jams down his gullet?" Peter raised his eyebrows at Spengler.

"It's possible that the core is permitting him to absorb just enough nutrition to keep him alive."

"I think you two are missing something," Winston added from the doorway to the kitchen. "That thing was in a depiction of sin, right?"

"That's correct. You think it may be forcing him to act out the Seven Deadly Sins, starting with Gluttony?" Egon looked skeptical, but he considered the idea.

"Maybe starting with Sloth. I mean, he was kind of a limp rag when we got him here." Winston shrugged. "He's gonna eat us out of house and home if we don't do something."

The doorbell rang. "I'll get it," Janine piped up, and she headed downstairs.

"Pizza's early," muttered Peter. "We'd better each grab a couple of slices before the human garbage compactor gets his hands on it."

\---

The kitchen was an utter wreck. Ray had polished off everything in the refrigerator, freezer, and pantry that didn't require cooking or thawing to be edible, and a few things that Peter would have put in that category. And yet, he showed no sign of having eaten or drunk anything at all. His stomach wasn't distended in the least; he'd wiped them out of beer and the two bottles of whiskey Peter kept at the back of the pantry for emergencies, but was still stone cold sober; he hadn't even belched from the sodas. He was currently licking the carton of ice cream clean and mewling like a starving kitten.

Janine had gone home, unable to handle watching. The other three stood at the other end of the table, unsure of what to do next.

Winston finally broke the silence. "Tell you what. I'll hike down to the closest grocery that's still open and come back with some peanut butter and bread. It's cheap and it'll keep him busy."

"I'm not sure continuing to feed him is actually the correct course of action, but I can't think of anything better to do until we figure out how to detach the ectoplasmic core from him." Egon sounded disappointed in himself. He depended on Ray to bounce ideas off of, and Ray had been distinctly uninterested in talking. Peter was not proving to be a satisfactory substitute.

"Well, at least it's something to do." Zeddemore didn't look like he thought it was a great idea either, but he hated standing around doing nothing while the team brains did all the work.

"Can I come with you?" whimpered Ray, setting the carton down.

"NO!" they all shouted in unison, followed by Egon assuring him, in a much gentler tone, "Ray, you don't need to be out on the street in your current condition."

Ray looked at the physicist blankly, the green glow making his eyes look nearly vacant. But he stayed seated and didn't try to follow Winston as he made his exit.

Peter started clearing the empty cartons, wrappers, and boxes off of the table. "Well, what do we do next?"

Spengler hunted in the drawers for the garbage bags. "I don't really have a good hypothesis. Ray's our occult expert; if we ever had to try a standard exorcism, I was expecting him to direct the effort. I'll have to look it up from scratch." He held one open for Peter. "I'm 97% convinced that the positively charged ectoplasm would have only minimal effects. It might make Ray feel better, but I don't think it would successfully expel the core from his body."

"Tell you what, Spengs, why don't you hit the books, or the book, bell, and candle, and I'll - " He was interrupted by Ray squeaking, in the most pitiful possible voice, "Peter?"

"Yes, Ray?" He turned back. Stantz was curled up on himself and trembling again, hard enough to shake the furniture.

"Peter, I'm cold." Ray was hunched over so far his chin almost brushed the table. "Please?"

"Please what?" Venkman wasn't sure what Ray was asking for. "Do you want me to get you a blanket? Make some more coffee? Turn the heat up? What?"

"Peter, _please_." The engineer's voice dropped to a whisper. Ray uncoiled, pushed himself unsteadily to his feet and reached out for him.

"I don't understand. What do you - " Peter stepped towards Ray so he could hear him; Ray grabbed him by the shoulders, pulled him close, and kissed him hard.

Peter fought the impulse to shove Ray away. He was surprised at how easy the impulse was to suppress, really. When Ray let him up for air, he took a step back and gasped, "Really, Ray, I'm flattered, but - "

"Peter, Peter, _please_, I _need_ you." Ray looked directly at Peter, pleading. His eyes glowed hotly, and Peter suddenly remembered Zuul looking at him through Dana's eyes, and not being able to tell which one of them wanted him.

"I'm not sure that would be a good idea, Ray." Peter put his hands on Ray's shoulders. "Have I told you about my no-sleeping-with-posssessed-people rule?"

"But I _want_ you. I want _you_, Peter." Ray's face was flushed. From what Peter could see of his pupils, they were dilated, but in all that green glow, it was hard to tell. His lips were wet and full. Venkman had never looked at him that way before, and to tell the truth, Ray wasn't his usual type, even for a guy, but something about him looked - well, delicious.

He stepped back again. "Egon? Is the ectoplasmic core able to affect anyone else?"

"It shouldn't be." Egon was watching the two of them with a strange lopsided half-grin. Great, there was Spengler's voyeuristic streak showing itself again. "It's not large enough to attach itself to more than one human energy source, and it's shown no particular capability for affecting people at a distance. Objects, perhaps, but not thoughts or emotions." He paused, then continued, "If you're being tempted by the offer, that's you, or possibly Ray, not the core."

Ray reached out for him. "I won't hurt you, Peter. I promise. But I _need_ you." Peter blinked, torn between the impulse to run screaming, and an urge he didn't know he'd had to take Ray into his arms and screw him senseless. For once in his life, he was completely tongue-tied. He took another half-step back.

Disappointed, Ray slowly turned his magnetic green gaze on Egon, who froze like a bird facing a snake.

"Oh, no, no." Peter stepped forward. "That's the blind leading the blind. That would end in tears, and Janine kicking everyone's ass." He draped one arm around Ray's shoulders. "If someone's gonna have to fall on that grenade, it had better be me."

"_Peter_," Ray blurted, and kissed him again. Peter leaned into it this time, tasting Ray, slipping his tongue into his mouth - for all that he'd eaten everything in sight, the only flavor still on him was the ice cream, and that only a faint vanilla undertone - and letting Ray return the favor. When they parted, they were both panting. Actually, all three of them were; Egon's face was flushed, too.

"All right, if this is gonna happen, I'm sorry, Spengs, but we need some privacy." Egon made a small noise of disappointment. "You hit the books, we'll hit the bunks." He grabbed Ray's hand and hauled him off to the bunkroom; Ray followed meekly but eagerly.

Peter slammed the door. "Okay, Ray." He squared his shoulders. "What, exactly, do you want to do?"

Ray slipped behind Peter and encircled him in his arms. He leaned in, his mouth tilting up to Peter's ear, and whispered "_Everything_." His breath tickled Peter's earlobe, and goosebumps prickled down his neck.

"Could you be a little more specific, Ray?" Peter asked, as Ray's hands found the buttons on his gray-and-blue striped shirt and began undoing them, starting from the neck and moving downward rapidly.

"Mmm," was Ray's reply, as he nuzzled Peter's neck. Peter felt the engineer's tongue and teeth playing along the space where throat and shoulder met, as Ray plucked his shirttail out of his pants and began tugging the sleeves down his arms. Suddenly Venkman's jeans were entirely too constricting. Peter mentally changed his self-classification on the Kinsey scale from 0.5 to 2 as Ray tossed his shirt onto Egon's bed and started working on his belt.

Peter carefully kicked off his shoes as Ray made short work of his jeans and boxers, then peeled off his socks and tossed them vaguely in the direction of the laundry hamper. The engineer ran an eager hand from Peter's temple, down his cheek and throat, across his chest, along his belly, over one angular hip to mid thigh, trailing the touch with his green-lit stare. Peter caught the hand by the wrist as it began working its way back up. "Ray, if we're gonna do this, you need to get undressed, too."

"Oh, right." Ray yanked his sweatshirt over his head, further tousling hair that had been knocked askew by his previous sliming, and left it on the floor at the foot of his bunk. It was rapidly joined by a pair of deck shoes, khaki trousers, a t-shirt, and his briefs; he must have taken off his socks with his boots when they got home. Peter continued looking at Ray's feet, avoiding looking at one part of his friend's anatomy that he'd never thought about that hard - wait, poor choice of words - oh, heck. He let his gaze drift up Stantz's solid and slightly hairy legs. Then he swallowed. Ray wasn't any longer than average, at least if what Peter had seen in various locker rooms was any indication, but he was thick, uncut, and quite definitely ready.

"Mmm, please, Peter, I'm cold. Hold me? Warm me up?" Ray's eyes were pleading, and his arms were open and inviting. Peter closed his own eyes for a second and took a deep breath. How was he going to feel about this when it was all over? Was he going to have a sexual identity crisis? Was Ray? Would they, as the saying went, respect each other in the morning?

Ah, who was he kidding? He'd checked out guys' asses before. Hell, he'd checked out Ray's ass a time or two, and hadn't found it wanting. Just because he'd never acted on it before, that didn't mean anything had really changed about himself if he did now. And besides, Ray needed him, and they were both probably going to get an orgasm out of it. If the only downside was some awkwardness at the breakfast table after Spengler figured out how to get the ghost energy out of Stantz, then it was cheap at twice the price.

He felt Ray's hands on his legs, his hips, his ass, stroking gently. He'd already been at more than half-mast, but at his friend's touch he sprang fully to attention. Apparently his body was up for whatever happened. Who was he to tell it that it was wrong?

He opened his eyes. Ray was sitting on the edge of the bed gazing up at him, utterly rapt. Peter leaned down, cupped Ray's head gently in his hands, and kissed him again, slow and seductive. Ray moaned into his mouth and caressed his cock.

Oh, god, that felt good. Peter's knees buckled for an instant, and he dropped onto the bed next to Ray. Ray crawled back and curled up around him, his hands exploring Peter, stroking at his arms, his elbows, his wrists, his sides. Peter rolled over so he was facing Ray again, and started doing the same, but his hands seemed impatient - he found them headed downward quite quickly.

Ray let out a wordless shout as Peter's hands closed on his erection. Venkman started stroking slowly - it was a little strange to be working that motion from this angle - but he found his rhythm and sped up. Ray arched his back, and then leaned in to devour his mouth again; Peter returned with a flurry of little pecks, peppering Ray's face and neck, as he kept stroking, hard and steady. Given how eager Ray had been, Peter figured he'd be close to ready to pop; he wasn't disappointed. He felt Ray stiffen under his grip - although how he could get any stiffer, Peter wasn't sure; he was already hard as steel - and then shudder and howl as his cock pulsed and spurted. Peter curled a hand around his neck and pressed Ray's head to his shoulder, his other hand working him though the last convulsions of orgasm, as his friend subsided from animalistic yowling to somewhat more human, if no more coherent, moans.

There was a noise outside the bunkroom door. Peter mentally cursed at Egon and hoped there weren't any hidden cameras in here. Oddly enough, the thought did nothing to lessen his own hard-on.

"Peter, Peter, thank you." Ray's moaning finally assembled into words. Peter grabbed Ray's t-shirt from the floor and cleaned the mess off of their chests. He was about to ask Ray how he was doing when Ray gently rolled him onto his back and licked his cock from root to tip. Peter threw back his head, gasped "Oh, dear god," and curled his hands into fists in the sheets as Ray repeated the motion, then took Peter into his mouth and sucked hard.

"Oh, god, Ray, harder," Peter hissed, squeezing his eyes shut as Ray's tongue laved over the head of his erection. One of the engineer's lightly calloused hands curled around the base of Peter's cock, stroking in time with the suction; the other dropped to gently cradle his balls, warming them and stroking them lightly. The sensation was electric; Peter curled his toes and pushed his feet into the foot of the bunk to keep from writhing. He gasped, panted, and then lost control of his vocal cords completely. "Harder, Ray, more, oh, god, harder, god, I'm gonna come for you, Ray, is that what you want?"

Ray didn't lift his head, but his eyes flashed up at Peter, the light strong and unwavering, lust and need clearly written on his features. "Mmm hmm," he answered, and the vibration sent new shocks of pleasure through Peter.

"Keep going, keep going, don't stop, oh, god, Ray, don't stop. So good." Ray's tongue swirled around him and dipped into the cleft at the tip. "God, I'm so hard, Ray, can you feel how hard I am?" "Mmm _hmm_," Ray sighed back, wriggling; his hands redoubled their efforts. "So good, don't stop, oh, god, Ray, I'm gonna come for you, Ray, I'm gonna come, I'm so close, are you ready for me?" "_Mmm hmm!_"

For a moment, Peter tottered on the brink, his entire body taut, and then he fell into wave after wave of crashing warmth flooding through him. He shouted something. It was probably Ray's name; he wasn't entirely conscious at that point, so he couldn't be sure. He felt Ray's mouth still working at him, swallowing every drop, and somehow that redoubled the intensity of the aftershocks. He went limp as a worn-out rag.

He swam out of his semi-consciousness to find Ray climbing onto him, humping him. He glanced down; Ray was hard and tall as a flagpole again. He let his friend rub against him for a few minutes, gently rolling his own hips. Ray's mouth found his, and for a while he lost himself exploring Ray's lips in detail. They were a bit swollen, and tasted like Peter as much as they tasted like Ray. Something stirred again in Peter's groin.

"Here, let's see if I can give as good as I get." Peter rolled over and swapped their places, scooting down towards the end of the bunk and facing Ray's renewed erection. A hand job was one thing; he'd done that for himself a thousand times. This was a little different. He tugged the foreskin down, took a deep breath, and lapped at Ray's cock like an ice cream cone. It seemed to have the desired effect; Ray shivered and moaned.

It took a couple of tries for Peter to actually take Ray all the way into his mouth, although he couldn't have told you why afterwards. Ray was thick, but not painfully so, and it wasn't like the idea of having another man's cock in his mouth was repulsive, exactly. Once he'd actually done it, it was kind of fun; rolling his tongue around it made Ray moan in one way, while closing his lips around it and sucking made him groan and writhe, and gently breathing on it while it was still wet from his mouth made Ray make little squeaky noises. He had one startling moment when Ray bucked his hips and almost triggered his gag reflex, but after that he'd used one hand to hold Ray's pelvis down, and things were fine. He took a hint from Ray's ministrations to him earlier, and used his free hand to stroke Ray's balls; Ray's cock had, once again, gotten harder at that, even though Peter would have sworn that was physically impossible.

His jaw was starting to get tired when Ray made a fist in Peter's hair and began moaning his name over and over: "Peter, Peter, Peter . . . " That seemed like a good sign; Peter redoubled his efforts, sliding his tongue in quick movements and massaging Ray's hips where he was holding him down. The chant of his name dissolved into a quivering wail, and Peter switched to stroking with his free hand just in time to avoid a spurt to the face.

He kept working Ray's cock until the tremors subsided. Ray's eyes were glazed and staring blankly, the green glow as bright as ever. The engineer was panting, moaning weakly every third or fourth breath. He _looked_ done, and he'd had two sizable orgasms. And yet his penis was still hard; the erection showed no signs of subsiding.

Peter wondered what he'd gotten himself into as Ray pulled him up and nuzzled his hair. They moved gently against each other as Ray's breathing returned to, well, not quite normal, but a reasonable rate. Peter was half hard again, himself.

Ray smiled at him, a guileless, open smile. "Peter, would it be okay if I fucked you? I'd really like to try."

"Um." Peter found himself blushing at that. It had been a _very_ long time since someone got him to blush. Was that another squeak from the other side of the door? "I've never done that before, Ray."

"Neither have I. But I think we can manage. You keep condoms and that other stuff in your bedside table; I've looked in there before when I was trying to clean up." Ray gestured in the direction of the furniture in question. "If you don't like it, tell me and I'll stop, but I'd really like to try. Please, Peter?"

Well, this whole experience so far had been remarkably pleasant, considering that Peter was screwing one of his best friends and Ray was half-possessed. Maybe the trend would continue. "Do you really think you'll be able to stop if I decide I don't want to go through with it?"

"Of course, Peter. I don't want to hurt you." But there it was again, the raw _need_ that had been on Ray's face before. Peter's cock twitched. "Okay, sure, then, let's try it. But go slow."

"Sure thing, Venkie." Ray fumbled around in the drawer, and put a strip of condoms and a small tube of K-Y on top of the nightstand.

Peter pushed himself to his hands and knees. "Um, is this position gonna work for you?"

"I think so." Ray slid his hand between Peter's legs and began massaging the spot just behind his balls. Peter concentrated on the sensation, and tried to relax. He felt Ray coaxing his butt-cheeks apart, felt himself tense up again, and took a deep breath to force himself to let the tension go.

Then he felt Ray's _tongue_ back there, and he suddenly wasn't having to force anything. That felt _really_ good. Not good enough to get him off by that alone, but he was definitely getting hard again. He moaned in what he hoped was an encouraging manner, and felt Ray quiver in return.

After several minutes of that quite pleasant stimulation, there was a squishing noise - the lube, probably - and then the gentle pressure of a finger. Ray was keeping his promise to go slow, at any rate; he took his time massaging the outside before slipping one finger in. Peter felt himself tense a little bit, but relaxing was easier than he'd thought it might be. A second finger joined the first one. Tight, but not unpleasant. Feeling someone else moving inside him was a novel sensation, but it was one he was finding that he was quite willing to explore.

Ray's hands left him for a moment, and Peter heard him fumbling with the condom and then slicking himself up. "Do you think you're ready, Peter? You feel ready to me."

"Let's try this. If it hurts, I'll let you know. Probably loudly." Peter inhaled deeply to keep himself from tensing up against the pressure as Ray pushed into him, very slowly.

"Mmm." Ray leaned forward and hugged him from behind as he finished easing in. "How is it so far, Peter?"

"It's . . . interesting. Kinda nice, although I don't think I'm gonna get off on this." Peter kept breathing from his diaphragm, trying to inspect the sensations clinically. It didn't hurt, which was his main concern.

Ray started moving, just rocking his hips gently, and Peter swallowed. A sensation that had a few seconds ago been a faintly pleasurable pressure was becoming more intense, and significantly sexier. He let out an involuntary noise that was most definitely not a whimper. Ray took that as encouragement and sped up.

Peter dug his hands into the mattress and hung on for dear life. The glow from Ray's eyes was bright enough to cast fuzzy shadows in the dim room. While Peter still didn't think he was going to come from this, he was back to rock hard and throbbing. Ray was making sharp little gasping noises on each thrust, and his balls were tapping Peter's as they slid together.

Ray threw his head back and howled, and Peter felt him throbbing. That was three, in - Peter looked at the clock - less than three-quarters of an hour. At Ray's age, that shouldn't be possible, should it? Neither of them were young anymore.

On the other hand, he looked like he might be up for a second himself, and Ray had supernatural assistance.

Ray very slowly slid out and off of him, removed the condom and dropped it in the wastepaper basket, and grabbed the t-shirt for a second wipedown. Peter took it gratefully and cleaned up the extra lube. When he turned back, Ray was staring at him with the desperately needy expression again.

He was _still_ hard. Peter shook his head. "Ray, what are we gonna do with you?"

Ray's voice was pleading, small but clear. "Fuck me, Peter?"

"I didn't think that was the way this usually worked." Ray's eyes glimmered in disappointment. "I didn't say no, Ray. Let me figure out how to handle this." Peter tried to remember the last time he'd had backdoor sex with a girl. It had been a while since he'd had a girlfriend who was into that. "Ah, okay. Here, lie down on your back, Ray." He put Ray's ankles on his shoulders and began massaging Ray with the pads of his fingers, the same way Ray had done with him.

It didn't take very long. Ray was pretty much ready. Peter lubed up his hand and slid a finger in, slowly and carefully. He felt Ray bear down on him briefly and then relax. "Have you done this part before?" Peter asked, moving his hand gently.

"Um, I've played with myself back there," Ray admitted. "I've never gotten fucked by someone other than me, though."

"Great, two virgins. It's a wonder we've gotten this far," grumbled Peter, but he slid in a second finger without problems.

"Go ahead, Peter, I'm ready," Ray begged. Peter opened the condom one-handed - a trick that had taken long practice - slid it on, and lubed it generously. A brief thought flashed through his mind of manufacturing artificial odorless ectoplasm; it would be significantly better than this stuff, if they could figure out how to get rid of the smell. He chuckled, and returned his attention to his partner.

Ray gasped as he started to push in, and he hesitated, but Ray slithered beneath him and begged "Go on, Peter, please." He edged the rest of the way in to a cacophony of moans, groans, and sharp exhalations from Ray. The younger man's eyes were wide, his face nearly frozen in a rapt expression, as Peter slowly started to thrust.

God, he was tight. Slowly, in, out, back, forth, Peter moved, watching shades of ecstasy flicker across Ray's face. His eyes were alight, he almost looked like his whole face was glowing, and the effect was nearly angelic. "I'm fucking a cherub," Peter murmured, half joking and half in awe. Ray responded with an enthusiastic keening.

Peter sped up. He didn't dare go too much faster, or he'd lose control completely. He curled his hips into Ray on each thrust, trying not to let his legs do too much of the driving, holding back what his spinal cord wanted to do. God, he was close again.

For an instant, the faraway look left Ray's face completely, and Peter wasn't holding down the half-possessed, out-of-control creature. He was facing his buddy Ray, the brilliant engineer who had built almost all their equipment, the man who'd helped him through the loss of his mother, the friend he'd laid his life on the line with when Gozer had appeared.

_That_ Ray, the real one underneath the desperation the ectoplasmic intrusion was overlaying on him, reached up, touched Peter's face, and groaned "Fuck me harder, Peter."

"If you say so." Peter let his spinal cord take over, driving into Ray with his hips and his legs and every muscle in his back. Ray closed his eyes and wailed, the green glow seeping through his lids. Peter felt his entire essence contract to somewhere behind his solar plexus and explode again, as the two of them tumbled into orgasm together.

Peter collected his thoughts sometime after his stomach muscles stopped shaking, and slid carefully out of Ray, peeling off the condom and stuffing it back into its pouch. Ray was shuddering, every muscle in his body vibrating. The green light surrounded his head like a halo.

Peter swabbed off the excess lube with the t-shirt and tossed it somewhere on the other side of Egon's bunk. "Ray? Are you okay?"

"Peter? I can't - where are you?" Ray's voice seemed to be coming from very far away. Peter wrapped his arms around Ray, and felt a vibration that had nothing to do with their shivering muscles. The ectoplasm was doing something. "Fight it, Ray! Hold on to me, and fight it!"

"I'm trying. Please, help!" Ray's eyes were sightless, now, just pupil-less swathes of green light. The halo around his head and shoulders began to swirl.

Peter felt something pressing against his own mind. Oh, shit. They were going to need more help.

Peter pushed himself up slightly, without letting go of Ray, and called towards the door, "Spengler! Get your goddamn Peeping Tom ass in here right now!"

The door flew open and Egon almost fell in, his shirt untucked and his face flushed. "I wasn't _peeping_, Venkman, I was, oh god, you're both still naked." He went crimson all the way to the roots of his formidable hair.

"Quit being squeamish. Ray's trying to fight off the ectoplasmic infestation and he needs our help." Peter hauled Ray into something resembling a sitting position. "Help me hold him up." Spengler eased onto the bunk on the other side of Ray and slid his arms around both of them, sandwiching the engineer between his two partners. The glow began to take a vague shape, asymmetrical and wispy.

"What do we need to do?" Egon's eyes were dilated but serious.

Peter thought fast. "I'm not sure, but - this thing was part of a demon, in a representation of sin, right?"

"Right."

"So, what's the opposite of sin?" Peter was groping for a concept he couldn't quite put his finger on. Ray shuddered and gasped; the green tendrils waved like seaweed in a slow current.

"Theology is hardly my strong suit, Peter." Egon thought. "It would be either virtue or love, wouldn't it? Depending on whether you were Catholic or Reform."

"I think we're pretty much S.O.L. on virtue." Peter focused on Ray, on how much he cared about this man who had gotten him through two doctorates, who had dragged him through Spengler's and his obsession into their strange shared profession, who saved lives on a regular basis and the world twice so far. He held on tighter, and felt Egon do the same.

The green light began to visibly writhe, snapping back and forth. Peter felt the probing at his mind again, and saw Egon's eyes go wide, then narrow again. Peter tried to push back against the mental force, to push it away from him, away from Ray, and replace it with - well, he wasn't ready to call that love yet, but it was certainly affection, and it seemed solid enough.

Ray sobbed and started to hyperventilate. Peter shushed him. "It's okay, Ray. We've got you. You're going to be all right. Just fight it."

"I am, Peter, I am fighting it. Egon? Is that you?"

"I'm here, Raymond." Egon's bass voice was calm and soothing. "I've got you. You're all right."

Ray's voice rose into a terrible caterwaul as his hands clutched at his two closest friends. The green light buzzed, whirled, thrashed, and then popped free with a splatter of slime; Ray yelped once and fell silent, going limp between them.

"Is that it?" Peter glared at the glimmering mass of ectoplasm. It was about the size of a basketball and floated aimlessly a few feet off the floor.

Egon fished the PKE meter out of his pocket. He pointed it at the blob, then at Ray's languid form. "That's it. Ray's showing only residual ectoplasmic readings."

"Then let's put it away." Peter untangled himself from Ray and ran downstairs. No one was down there at this hour, thank god. He snatched an empty trap from the recharge pile beside Ecto-1 and raced back up to the bunkroom.

Egon had arranged Ray mostly lying down on the bed, and was standing between the blob and Ray, guarding him as if the PKE meter would ward it off. Peter slid the trap across the floor underneath the ectoplasmic core and stomped the switch, hard. The mass struggled weakly, then slid down the sizzling white light and out of view. The trap snapped shut.

Peter turned his attention to the younger man on the bed. "Is he okay?"

"I'm fine," groaned Ray. He flinched and opened his eyes. "Or I will be once every muscle in my body stops aching and I get this slime off." His eyes opened wider as he registered Peter's nakedness. "Um, was that - that wasn't a dream, was it."

"Nope." Peter grinned wolfishly. "We did the nasty. Pretty much every way two guys could do it, too." Ray blushed, hard. "And just to make it worse, Spengs here was listening in on us. About where did you get off, Egon?"

Egon glanced away and visibly decided not to evade the question. "Somewhere around the point when you were verbally stimulating Ray."

"Should have figured you'd be into dirty talk." Peter clucked his tongue at Egon, who suddenly became very interested in the trap. "Let me take care of getting this into containment," Spengler offered, scooping up the blinking ghost trap and hurrying out of the room, closing the door behind him.

"Um. Wow. I, uh, I don't know how to thank you, Peter." Ray bunched the covers up over his crotch and looked everywhere but Peter's eyes.

"Well, you can start by telling me whether that was just the ectoplasmic thingy stimulating your libido like it did your appetite, and anyone would have been fine, or whether you've been nursing a crush on me and not telling me." Peter hunted through the discarded clothes for his boxers.

"A little bit of both. I wouldn't say I'm in love with you, but I think it's fair to say I love you, and I've certainly found you attractive for a long time." Ray wasn't blushing anymore; he just looked vaguely ashamed.

Peter tugged on his underwear and his jeans. He decided to hold off on the shirt for a minute. "Just so you know, Ray, I'm, you know, okay with everything we did here."

"Thanks, Peter." Ray began looking at the clothes on the floor. "I know that has to have been tough for you, and obviously I won't expect you to, um -"

"Hey, don't sell yourself short, kiddo." Peter sat down on the bed again, leaned in, and kissed Ray gently. "Adjusting for the friend in potentially mortal peril factor, I had a pretty good time. If you wine and dine me correctly, I might potentially be convinced to do it again."

"Um, really?" Ray looked hopeful.

"No guarantees, but yeah, I think so." Peter grinned. "Now get your clothes back on before we scare the heck out of Winston."

"Right." Ray scrambled for his briefs. "Let me sleep on it, anyway. I think if I even _think_ about sex right now, I'll dehydrate myself."

"Sure thing, Ray." Peter shrugged his shirt on. "But from now on, let's try and stay out of the art world. Museums never work out for us. Remember that place with all the crystal?"

"Boy, do I ever." Ray grinned, buttoning his pants. "What a mess."

"Can we stick with libraries? Those seem to work out okay," Peter was interrupted by a knock at the door. Spengler called through, "Winston's back. We have peanut butter sandwiches, milk, and Oreos, if anyone's interested."

"What do you say, Ray?" Peter watched as Ray shrugged on his sweatshirt without the t-shirt.

Ray thought for a minute. "Yeah, I could eat. Let's go." Peter shook his head, and draped an arm across Ray's shoulders as they made their way up to the kitchen. It felt comfortable, like a pair of old shoes you'd forgotten you had. He could get used to this, he really could.


End file.
